Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
ISAAK
Fuck, she’s holding me so tight. Like she actually— Like this is something more than just?—
It’s a quickie in a college bathroom, you goddamned idiot . That’s where women like her fuck the help. They hide you away where no one can see you.
It’s a stupid thought, but that’s all I’ve ever been. Fucking stupid. I’m the brawn, not the brains.
I’ve known my place my whole life and why should I expect it to change now? I shouldn’t. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life it’s not to bash your head against the wall called hope. You just come out of it with a concussion, and that’s if you’re lucky. Sometimes, you come out dead.
I force my arms to release her as I turn and zip away my cock that’s still wet from being inside her mouth.
“Ahhhh,” she breathes out from behind me. “Now that’s what I call a morning pick me up.”
I hear her hop off the counter behind me, her little feet slapping the tile. She smacks my butt as she walks past me, winking over her shoulder as she reaches for the door. “Shall we?”
I just stare at her for a moment. She’s so pretty when she smiles, and I immediately want to smile back. And what the fuck am I grousing about? I just got my dick wet between the legs and lips of the world’s most beautiful woman. I stand up straighter.
“Why are you being weird?” she asks.
“I’m not being weird,” I huff out. “You’re weird.”
“I’m not weird!” she says indignantly as she starts to pull open the door, only to freeze in place at a man standing with his arms crossed in the hallway. “Dr. Ezra!”
Kira’s cheeks immediately bloom cherry as she starts to wave her hands, flustered. “Dr. Ezra, this is Isaak, my personal protection officer. I told you about my situation. And Isaak,” she turns to me, eyes still wide as a startled deer, “This is Dr. Ezra, my Ph.D. advisor.”
Dr. Ezra looks younger than me, but like Kira, he’s wearing glasses that make him look really, really smart as he eyes me up and down quickly. Dude’s also wearing a legit cardigan sweater.
Kira just keeps talking, not letting in a moment for air, “We were just—Uh, he was helping me—We needed to check on this security thing—” She waves vaguely behind her.
Dr. Ezra gives a slight roll of his eyes. “I’ve been around college kids enough to know what you were doing. But what if it had been Dr. Harrington who’d found you here?”
Dr. Ezra puts a finger to cover his lips and waves us past him with his other hand.
“Sorry!” Kira whispers, face gone all blotched-cherry now as she scoots past him. I just give a nod and follow her, sure that silence is the better part of valor in this situation.
I’m not sure she breathes again until we’re out of the building. Then she smacks me on the shoulder. “I can’t believe you just made me get caught by my advisor.”
“Me? What did I do?”
She scoffs with an irritated noise, glaring my way as she stomps toward the car. “Please. As if you don’t know what you’re doing when you stand around looking all sexy and muscled. Plus, that thing you did to me this morning? I could barely focus on my damn lecture. I just needed to get my legs around your waist as soon as humanly possible.”
I grin. “All right, all right. Simmer down, girl. It’s good to know my virile presence causes such a reaction.”
Her mouth drops open as she looks over at me haughtily. “Your virile presen—! Ugh! Men!” She hurries with her little footsteps across the quad as if she could possibly outpace me, but I easily keep up by extending my long strides.
“As if you didn’t think wearing that tight little prim green sweater with that sexy skirt wasn’t going to have me fighting a stiffy all through class.”
She bursts out laughing, holding out the voluminous fabric of her skirt and doing a little twirl that makes the fabric flow outwards in a circle as it catches the wind, giving me a peek of her bare knees and her curvaceous sexy calf that’s topped by an even sexier little pair of black librarian pumps with a little buckle over on the strap.
“I wear this because it’s the least sexy thing I can possibly think of.”
“You thought wrong. Every growing boy dreams about fucking at least one of his teachers.”
“Oh god, don’t tell me that,” she says as we get to her car and she swings her bag from around her chest to deposit in the trunk. “I have a hard enough time getting them to take me seriously. I don’t need to know they’re picturing me naked, too.”
“Sorry, just the truth. Speaking of, any weird interactions while I was out of the room?”
She’s biting her bottom lip as she unlocks the car and sits down in the driver’s seat. As her security, I really should be driving, but she said it was sexist for me to assume I got to drive.
“Maybe if I wore really thick, baggy layers, they’d stop thinking of me as a sex object? Or if I cut my hair short? It’s the long hair, isn’t it? How can I expect the patriarchy to treat me any differently if I keep living up to such patriarchal standards?” She holds out a lock of her beautiful, curly red hair.
“Kira, focus .” I snap and finally manage to catch her attention from the passenger seat. “Any weird interactions with students today?”
“Oh.” She blinks. “Nothing unusual. Phillip repeated facts from the text and other sources, talking over everyone else like he’s the smartest person in the room. Zachary mostly looked like he was trying to murder his paper with his pen.”
“What about the other kid?”
“Dae?”
“I don’t think it’s him. He and Allegra just started dating, and they both look moony-eyed over each other.”
“Allegra? What, he’s dating an allergy medication?”
She smacks me on the arm again before pulling out of her parking spot and navigating the busy parking lot. “Don’t say that. She chose that name. It has a lot of meaning for her. She loves music and is considering doing music therapy for kids.”
“What was her name before?”
“Martha.”
I make a face and get another smack on the shoulder.
“Don’t make people feel bad for their names.”
“You just said she didn’t like it and chose another one!”
“But as the adults, we should be affirming of whatever her name is, or was, and however she chooses to identify in the future.”
“Fucking millennials,” I breathe out under my breath.
“Excuse me,” she arches an eyebrow my way when we’re at a stoplight. “Aren’t you a Millennial? I’m Gen Z, thank you very much.”
“Jesus, you are?” I scrub a hand through my head. What the fuck am I doing here? She’s such a kid, still. Even if she doesn’t feel like it when I see her teaching at the front of a college class. Or sucking my dick. I shake my head to clear the image away with the same thought that she’s Gen Z and I’m closer to X.
“Yeah, I guess technically, I’m a millennial. But I grew up in the late 90s, thinking Gen X was cool as fuck. Plus, most of the guys I served with were Gen X.”
“But nobody wants to be Gen X,” she says, sounding a little horrified. “I mean, they’re, like, the worst .”
That gets a genuine laugh out of me. “Gen Xers say the same about the Boomers.”
“Yeah, but Gen X had like time, to like, I don’t know… fix things . My generation grew up knowing we’d never be able to buy a house or fix the planet.”
I snort. “Pretty sure you’ll be able to buy a house sooner than me. Isn’t that the whole point of your glorious upcoming nuptials? So you can pass on the generational wealth?”
Her mouth had been open as if ready to hit me with her next comeback, but it snaps shut, her shoulders slumping slightly.
“What?” I ask. “Don’t stop now, Red.”
“No,” she breathes out. “You’re right. I’m a total hypocrite. Who am I to rage against the patriarchy when I’ve been so focused on profiting from it? As if I somehow deserve the wealth my ancestors managed to accrue and pass down over generations of oppressing people who had less than them?”
I lift my eyebrows as I glance over at her. She seems like she’s actually considering what I said, something I generally haven’t known rich people to do when their entitlement is questioned.
“What about you?” she asks as she pulls into a little pizza place near campus. “We’ve focused so much on my family, I’ve never asked. What are your parents like? Do you have any siblings?”
I shrug before shoving the door open. “My birth parents wanted shit all to do with me, so as far as I’m concerned, they can go get fucked.”
“Okaaaaaay,” she says, coming around the front of the car to meet me and walk into the pizza place together. “It feels like there’s a story with that.”
Nothing to do but shrug again. “Not really. It was the early 90s. My parents liked to do drugs and party. They didn’t want anything to do with a kid, so I mostly stayed with my abuelita.”
“You’re Hispanic?” She looks surprised, like most people do.
“Yeah. I know I don’t look like it. And my last name’s Luther because my birth mom fell in love with some big German fighter. So I just came out as this giant, gray-eyed baby. But apparently, for the first five years of my life, I only spoke Spanish.”
“Do you still speak it?”
I walk up to the counter, shaking my head. “Not after Abuelita died. I can still understand it, mostly, but I can’t speak it anymore.”
We’re up at the counter, and I order three big slices of pepperoni and sausage. Kira orders a slice of vegetarian pizza and a salad. I can only shake my head at her. She’s just getting one slice when it’s Pizza Dude ? C’mon now. I look around at the place that feels like it’s borrowed Austin’s aesthetic of graffiti and other whack-ball art all over the walls and tables. All it’s missing are the Keep Austin Weird stickers.
We grab utensils and sit down after getting our pizza.
“So, how old were you when your abuelita died?” Kira asks, picking at her salad.
“Christ, are we still talking about this?” I shake my head.
Kira looks up at me, surprised. “Yes. I want to know about you.”
“Why?”
I shove a big bite into my mouth. There. No talking if my mouth’s stuffed full of pizza. Fuck, it’s good pizza, too.
“Why?” She laughs. “Because we hang out 24/7.” She leans in over the table. “And because I know what your cum face looks like.” She wags her eyebrows before leaning back in her seat and stabbing some salad on her fork. “But I don’t know what your life was like growing up.”
She shoves the greenery in her mouth and looks at me expectantly.
Right. This is supposed to be the part where I talk. I grab my collar and look around. Do they have the goddamn air-conditioning on in here? Yeah, it’s the end of October, but I’m fucking sweating. Kira and I have eaten almost all our meals together lately, but they haven’t been like this. Out at a table in public.
This is starting to feel a lot like a… date.
I guess she’s not hiding me in closets and bathrooms after all. And after that little run-in with her advisor, I could see how it would’ve been awkward if she was caught fucking anyone in that bathroom. When I’m not being a myopic asshole, I can see that she’s probably been stepping really far out of her normal routine for me.
But even while thoughts are hitting me left and right, my knee-jerk reaction kicks in like it always does in these situations.
I just sorta shut down.
“It wasn’t good. No white picket fences or shit like that. Abuelita died when I was five, and like I said, my parents couldn’t handle me, so.” I shrug again and bring my pizza to my mouth.
“So… what? Did you go live with another relative then?” Kira takes another bite of lettuce like we’re just having any regular old conversation.
I drop my half-eaten pizza down on my plate so hard it rattles the plate. “No. There was no one else. My birth parents dropped me off at daycare one day after Abuelita died and then just never picked me up.”
“Isaak!” Kira’s hand flies up to cover her mouth. But the last thing I want is her sympathy.
“Look,” I say, holding up a hand. Better to just get the rest of this out. “You wanted to know. So here it is. Kids who don’t have family go to group homes where, if you’re young enough, maybe, just maybe, someone will adopt you. Except nobody wanted a giant blond five-year-old kid who didn’t know any English. A couple of folks took me in, but they’d always end up bringing me back for whatever reason.”
I shrug, still being matter-of-fact, even though Kira’s covering her mouth in horror. She hasn’t seen enough of the world yet to get that this is just the way things are. Did it fuck with my head when I was a kid? Maybe sometimes still? Sure. But that’s life.
“After a while, you’re just not adoptable anymore. So I tried to stay wherever I got put and keep to myself as much as possible. Just counting the days till I was eighteen. I wasn’t good at school or anything, and the foster family I was with the last couple of years of high school kicked me out on my birthday midway through senior year. I went into the Army so I didn’t end up on the streets. Lots of kids did.”
“Isaak…” She reaches out for my hand, but I pull it away.
“You asked, so I told you. I’m not looking for sympathy.” My voice comes out gruffer than I mean for it to. “It is what it is.”
“Yeah, but… That’s a lot for a little kid to process. Have you ever gone to therapy?”
I guffaw. “Jesus, now you think I need a shrink?”
“Uh, yeah. I think everyone could use a good therapist. It’s kind of my whole deal. Therapy is just someone to talk to about stuff. What’s wrong with that? Surely, as a veteran, there are resources available?—”
Now I guffaw even louder. “Damn, you really are just a kid, huh?”
She pulls back, fire in her eyes. “I am not.”
“Well, you obviously are if you keep saying dumb shit like thinking anyone gives a shit about veterans beyond an occasional bullshit Thank you for your service here or there. I think I’ll take my pizza to go.”
I walk over to the counter, where I grab a to-go box and dump my slices in, tearing off another ragged bite of the half-eaten piece I was working on. Telling me to go to fucking therapy. Don’t fucking ask about my goddamn childhood if you’re just gonna tell me that shit.
Kira continues eating her salad and pizza slice where she’s sitting. She pulls out earbuds and plays something on her phone while she eats peacefully and I stand steaming in the corner like a dumb ox. I feel stupid for storming off while she maturely eats her food and listens to music or probably a smart podcast or some shit.
Have I ever gone to therapy? Phsh . I mean, technically, I have, though they called it counseling back then when I was a kid.
For a while, I’d go to this lady’s office, and she’d ask how I was feeling after I beat the shit out of another kid at the group home. It was mandatory for six months. I never said a word the whole time. ’Cause I might have been eleven, but I already knew that shit was rigged.
Adults didn’t give a fuck, not really. They came in and out and made sympathetic faces sometimes. But they couldn’t even hack it in their dumb jobs. The good ones lasted a year, maybe two. The corrupt ones made a career out of it.
So it was up to us kids to form our own packs. That’s why I beat the shit out of Tucker. He was fourteen and thought he could pick on the younger kids. I’d always been big for my age and had learned how to throw a punch out of necessity in my second year in the system.
I drag a hand through my hair. There’s a reason I don’t like thinking about any of this shit anymore. I did my time in the system, and then, as soon as I finally got my freedom ticket at eighteen… I went into another, even more regimented, even more violent system. Where they gave us guns and sent us to places where people planted bombs in the road.
Fuck. I yank another peppermint candy out of my pocket, unwrap it, and shove it in my mouth.
But I’m free now. And I got off way easier than plenty I know. So I’m not gonna whine about how good I got it to some starch-shirt head-doctor-in-training who’s got no clue half the shit I went through.
I nod hard, even though I’m arguing with no one except myself. ’Cause none of this shit made me crazy at all, see? See?
“You ready?” Kira asks, suddenly popping up in front of me. She startles the shit out of me, which means I’ve been slacking on the job. I’m supposed to be watching her six.
Her voice softens. “Hey, you okay? I’m sorry for what I said back there. It was wrong of me to intrude and then offer advice once you’d actually opened up and were finally sharing. It’s a vocational habit. Always trying to solve everyone’s problems.
“I don’t got any problems,” I grouse. “I’m fine .”
I nod and spin, shoving through the door and trying to do a better job of being aware of our surroundings.